


Out of Your League

by ladysisyphus



Category: Supernatural, The X-Files
Genre: Gen, crossover humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysisyphus/pseuds/ladysisyphus
Summary: You don't want to know where that goo came from.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Out of Your League

Just past dawn, Dean heard Bobby's old pickup truck pull up to the house, so he crawled out of bed and found some clothes that weren't too dirty or wrinkled. From the bed, Sam coughed twice with the chest cold that had gotten Dean stay-home-and-watch-your-brother duty, but didn't stir much beyond that. Dean tossed the covers he'd kicked off back over him, then set off down the stairs just in time to see the front door open.  
  
First through into Bobby's house was Dad, though he was only recognizable by the particular mad-as-a-wet-hen limp he had when everything had gone pear-shaped and he was just glad to be out of there alive; the rest of him was covered from head to toe in an opaque pink-ish substance that made Dean only half-sorry he'd stayed home. Following him was the FBI man, who looked only slightly less drenched but in much better spirits. Last came Bobby and the FBI woman, both of whom looked as clean as they had when they'd left the night before. Dean gave the FBI woman his best grin, and she actually smiled back before making sure that her partner was aware of the goo in his hair. Peering over the bannister, Dean began to smell the faint aroma of rotting meat.   
  
"I guess that about wraps it up," the FBI man said, poking his head out from underneath the towel Bobby had given him. Dad hadn't even stopped after getting handed his, just kept right on marching through to the back porch and Bobby's makeshift outside shower.  
  
"Guess it does." Bobby nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Listen, you want me to scare you up a fresh pair of pants, at least? Something to make the drive back a little less" --he looked the FBI man up and down, obviously at a loss for words several times over-- " _wet_?"  
  
"Oh, it's all right, the motel's not that far, I'll--" The FBI man's polite refusal fell quickly into silence as he turned to meet his partner's gaze. She was standing with her back to Dean, so he couldn't see her expression, but he guessed it was formidable. "...Would you?"  
  
Bobby nodded and gestured for the FBI man to follow him into the back room, leaving Dean and the FBI woman alone in the front of the house. She fingered a few of the dusty volumes on the nearest table, opening the covers and frowning at the occult titles. Dean cleared his throat a little. "Hey."  
  
She looked over at him with a smile that suggested she was biting down the corners of her lips to keep it from getting any bigger. "Hi," she said, giving him a little wave before lifting a flask of amber liquid to the light, peering in at its contents.  
  
"That's banshee's tears," said Dean, pointing to the flask for clarification. "It'll cure any poison. ...Except, uh, snakes, I think Bobby said. Or maybe it's _only_ snakes. It's from Ireland," he added helpfully. "So ... what happened out there tonight?"  
  
"Dean, right?" The FBI woman returned the tears to their place on the shelf, then crossed her arms. "Shouldn't you and your brother be getting ready for school?"  
  
"Oh, well, Sam's sick. And I'm ... uh, I graduated last year." Dean hoped like hell the prickly little moustache he hadn't shaved in three days added something to his credibility here.  
  
Her expression didn't budge. "Mm-hmm." Bobby and the FBI man walked back in, the latter now wearing a pair of Bobby's old painter overalls and a University of Illinois t-shirt, both of which looked too small for him, but which he wore with something approaching dignity. "Well, Bobby, thank you for your help bringing this matter to a conclusion," she said, shaking Bobby's hand before leading the group back out the door. "Come on, Mulder, it's a two-hour drive back."  
  
Dean followed them out to the front porch, his bare feet cold in the grey morning. "Be sure to give us a call if you need anything again!" he called after them.  
  
"You betcha." The FBI man shot him a finger gun and a wink before tossing his soiled clothes in the back seat, then climbing in behind the rental car's steering wheel. The FBI woman only smiled and nodded at nothing in particular before getting in on the passenger side.  
  
As their car drove off down the dirt road, Dean felt Bobby's hand on his shoulder. "Son, there's women, and then there's women out of your league, and then there's _the FBI_."  
  
"I know," scowled Dean, brushing Bobby away and going back inside to check on Dad.


End file.
